


Somewhere Only We Know

by raiast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Will, Domestic Bliss, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Memory Palace, Mind Palace, Season 3 AU, Shared Dream, Top Hannibal, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: “Who’s to say if this is your dream or mine, or something altogether more tangible,” Hannibal murmured softly. “All that truly matters is that the both of us are here, now,” he tilted forward without really moving at all; his warm breath ghosted over Will’s face and he found his eyes fluttering shut despite himself.orIt's been one year since the night that Hannibal surrendered to the FBI, and Will has missed him fiercely. He finds himself stumbling upon the man while lost in his own mind. Is this a dream? A shared visit to their own Mind Palaces that have bled together? Or something more?





	Somewhere Only We Know

 

 _Is this the place we used to love?_  
_Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?_  


Will blinked and looked around him. He was dreaming, he figured. Must be, because he was fairly certain that he hadn’t gone to sleep in the Palermo Chapel. Dream or not, his heart began to pound as he took in architecture and mosaics too detailed for the small amount of time he’d visited. He turned to the front of the chapel, almost expected to see a bloody Valentine awaiting him.

There was only empty space.

His feet moved, sure of their destination before he’d even begun to think about it. He shivered when he reached the entrance to the catacombs, cold and dark but for the few candles that flickered in the gloom. Swallowing over the lump that had formed in his throat, Will ventured forward. The maze of dank passages felt all too familiar, as did the burgeoning feeling that he wasn’t alone.

“Hannibal?”

It was the first time the name had passed his lips in a year. He hated that his voice sounded weak, desperate. Hopeful.

“Hannibal!” he called, pleased that his tone seemed stronger, more assured that time. Now, just as a year previous, Hannibal did not answer him.

Last time, Will had turned back the way he’d come when his search turned up fruitless. This time, Will continued forward, blindly following twists and turns, his pace quickening with each new passage he turned down. The shrouded skeletons that he passed grinned at him in death, mocking. He wondered if he had to wait until he was ushered into the afterlife to get in on the joke.

He paused when he reached a door, seemingly out of place and yet somehow familiar to him. When he opened it and stepped through, his heart stopped.

The room he entered was much warmer than the depths of the catacombs, and Will knew without even looking that the fireplace would be flickering robustly. Despite the dark colors and high ceilings, Will felt an immediate and unmistakable sense of comfort and homeliness. The walls, as ever, were lined with shelves upon shelves of literature and curios. For a moment, he was overcome with the distinct desire to sink to his knees in relief and rapture. His lungs joined his heart on strike when his gaze settled to the middle of the familiar room, where in one of two familiar chairs, a very familiar man sat.

When Hannibal looked at him, the dim office seemed to brighten. The doctor looked somehow surprised and also not at the intruder. He regarded Will for a moment, and then warmth crept into his blood-colored eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into the smallest of smiles. Will’s stomach twisted at the sight, though he couldn’t say if it was in a pleasant way or not.

“It was a year, tonight,” Will said from his place by the door. He fought the impulses of his traitorous body, which longed to close the gap and sink into the comfort of his own chair, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot instead.

“Yes, I know,” Hannibal nodded.

His eyes slipped closed at the sound of the older man’s lilting accent; he hoped the electric thrum that powered through him didn’t manifest outwardly as a shiver. He’d heard his voice in court, of course, the few times that his presence was required there, but this was the first time since that night that Hannibal had spoken directly to him, _for_ him.

Will hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had missed the comforting cadence of Hannibal’s voice. He resolved instantly to think of something else to say so that he could hear it again. He took a hesitant step forward.

“Is this your dream, or mine?” His body wanted to move, so he relented, but he stubbornly turned it away from the center of the room to trail along the bookcases at one end. When he ran a hand over the ladder to the mezzanine, the wood felt solid and sound in his grasp. If this was a dream--and what else could it be?--it was an incredibly lucid one.

“Yes, I think, is the answer to that,” was Hannibal’s reply. Will recognized the words as his own from a conversation long in the past. He summoned the courage to turn around and face him. He had risen from his chair, though he hadn’t moved beyond that; he was dressed in one of his impeccable, bespoke suits. “I did tell you that your Memory Palace shared rooms with my own. You yourself claimed that we were conjoined.”

They seemed to take a step closer in the same instant, their movements mirrored perfectly. One step, and another, and then another, until the space between them had diminished from feet to inches. Will took a shuddering breath through his nose, his jaw locked tight; he could smell the sandalwood and thyme on Hannibal as though they had slipped years into the past. Hannibal raised a hand to cradle neck and jaw; Will allowed it, leaned into it. He refused to let his eyes slide shut, staring stubbornly forward into Hannibal’s heavy gaze.

“Who’s to say if this is your dream or mine, or something altogether more tangible,” Hannibal murmured softly. “All that truly matters is that the both of us are here, now,” he tilted forward without really moving at all; his warm breath ghosted over Will’s face and he found his eyes fluttering shut despite himself.

His face nuzzled more firmly into Hannibal’s tender grasp, his body arched forward gently until their chests brushed together. “I miss you,” Will admitted on a shaky breath. He had never let himself think it in private, let alone entertain the idea of giving such ammunition freely to Hannibal Lecter.

The doctor had the good grace not to be smug at the confession. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

Hannibal’s face tilted forward, and Will came back to himself in time to pull back slightly. “I’m mad at you,” he informed his would-be lover. “You turned yourself in, you idiot. And you did it just to spite me.”

“Will-” Hannibal began, but Will didn’t feel like stepping down from his soapbox; he felt too righteous in his anger.

He pulled back from Hannibal’s clutches completely, felt the absence of Hannibal’s flesh against his own instantaneously; it was a sort of ache he’d never before experienced. “The last thing I asked of you was to not know. To not know where you were or what you were doing...Don’t tell me what you did was for any reason beyond that.”

Sanguine eyes darkened, hardened slightly. “You hurt me, Will,” he reminded him.

Will took another step back as he barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have _any_ idea how _that_ feels.” He glared up at his tormentor, tried to pretend that despair didn’t crush him as Hannibal’s stoic expression morphed to something altogether more mournful. Will squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head as if to dispel that negative track of thinking. Finally, he sighed and stepped forward once again. “I don’t want to fight,” he started, forcing his gaze back to Hannibal’s. “This is…I don’t know what this is. But I feel like we should let all that other stuff go and just appreciate what we’ve been given.”

Hannibal raised a hand to his face once more, traced a thumb lightly over Will’s stubbled cheek. “I agree,” he breathed, tilting forward once more.

Will met him this time, eyes squeezing shut against something that he refused to think of as tears. But then their lips brushed together and a wracking sob jerked through him, swallowed by Hannibal as his hand gripped Will’s face tighter, his other finding its way to his low back to pull him flush against a hard body. Will melted into him, hands curled between their chests as his body turned pliant, lips falling open as Hannibal licked into his mouth, explored its caverns as though he were searching for gold. A low moan slipped from Will’s throat at the feeling of their tongues gliding together. They had never done this before. This sensation should not feel so authentic.

Hannibal’s warm hands ran along his body in a heated caress, trailing fire everywhere they brushed. Their kiss was a desperate thing, exploratory and consuming all at once. When Hannibal’s lips pulled back to trail along his jaw, down the column of his neck, Will found his voice.

“Can we move this somewhere else?” he sighed, tilting his head back to allow better access to the tender flesh of his throat. His hands skimmed over Hannibal’s shoulders, chest, waist, clutched at sharp hips as Hannibal gave a hard suck to the pulse point at the base of his neck. It pulled a whimpering moan from Will’s mouth and his breath caught again as Hannibal nodded against him; between their bodies, Will’s cock began to thicken.

He pulled back, catching Will’s hands in his own and leading him to the exit of the office. Will had never seen the bedroom of Hannibal’s Baltimore house, but he had no doubt that that was where they were now. It was decorated elegantly, as though it could be anything else where Hannibal Lecter was concerned, in warm greys and rich shades of blue and teal. Will glanced around, taking in his surroundings; a smirk quirked his lips when he caught sight of the mirror angled on the wall opposite of the master bed.

He became aware of Hannibal’s eyes on him as an antelope might become aware of a lion stalking it. He turned to meet that feral gaze, breath catching in his throat as the lean man prowled towards him, stripping the charcoal grey suit coat off as he moved.

Will felt a renewed sense of assurance that this was a dream as he watched Hannibal peel the tailored jacket from his shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor. He was barely able to pull a real lungful of air in before Hannibal was encompassing him, stealing it all over again. There was a flurry of hands plucking at buttons between the two of them, lips and tongues questing hungrily in the process. Belts were shed, and pants, and then they were falling back together onto the mattress, Will’s body pinned between cool silk sheets and the blazing hard form that was Hannibal’s body. Hands carded through his curls, across his chest, down his sides, slipping underneath him to knead the globes of ass, pulling him closer, closer. All Will could do was circle his arms around him, clinging to him like the paddle he’d once proclaimed himself to be.

They had both retained their underwear in their journey to the bed, both sported fierce erections that strained and leaked against the cotton. Hannibal ground his hips down against Will’s, causing a delicious sort of friction between them that pulled a low growl from Hannibal, a whining keen from Will.

“ _Hannibal!”_ he cried out, hips jerking up to indulge in that friction once again. “God, _more!”_

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal breathed against his skin with a reverence that threatened to break him, followed the syllable with wet kisses across his chest that felt like worship. “My beautiful, wonderful Will.”

Hannibal’s hand moved down to palm Will’s hardness through his briefs even as his other crept up to cradle his face tenderly. He pressed their foreheads together and Will opened his eyes to lock their gazes, completely helpless against the force the pulled them together eternally. “More?” Hannibal confirmed.

Will’s natural, surly countenance wanted to scoff at him. Tell him that if he couldn’t tell that he wanted more by the way he was moaning and writhing against him that perhaps this was a failed endeavor. He recalled then how he had let that part of him come to light the last time they were alone in a bedroom together, remembered how that ended, remembered that this moment, whatever else it might be, was ultimately a gift for the both of them.

“ _All_ ,” Will breathed, surging up to connect their lips once more. When he realized Hannibal was pulling his briefs down his hips he went to work freeing the man of his own. They stilled in the same instance, breath stolen as their swollen cocks brushed against each other. Sanguine eyes met stormy blue once more and for a moment the only movement was the chaotic tattoo of their hearts thumping beneath their breasts; they somehow managed even that in perfect unison.

“I want you inside me,” it was a demand, one disguised as a statement, despite how softly the words fell from Will’s lips, and one that Hannibal was powerless to refuse.

He nodded, slipping a hand between them to align his thick cock with Will’s tight hole. Will pulled his legs up to wrap around Hannibal’s waist. The thought of lubrication didn’t occur to either one of them--they were confident in their assumption at its redundancy here. They didn’t need it, an any case; despite Will’s lack of experience in the area his body seemed to open readily for Hannibal as though he’d always belonged there. Perhaps he had. He slid into the channel of Will’s tight heat in one smooth motion until he was buried within him to the hilt. They both gasped at the sensation, clutching each other tighter and stilling once again.

Hannibal leaned down to him to press his lips to Will’s forehead, his cheeks, his fluttering eyelids. He brushed their noses together and rested his lips lightly against Will’s and the two breathed as one.

Will felt full in the best possible way, longed to feel the friction of Hannibal moving inside him. He longed to quell the thoughts that flitted through his mind but found it quite impossible. All he could do was analyze the fact that he’d never felt closer to a single living person and how, wrapped in Hannibal’s arms with the man buried deep inside him, the only coherent word that seemed to want to surface to his lips was ‘ _home’_. It was too overwhelming, and Will shifted restlessly. Finally, he opened his eyes to settle on Hannibal’s.

“Move,” he demanded. Maybe if Hannibal fucked him senseless he wouldn’t need to dwell on such thoughts.

Hannibal acquiesced immediately, as though he’d needed the verbal prompting to break the spell between them. He began to slide in and out of Will, pulling pleased sounds from the man below him with each renewed thrust. A short time later he reared back, relieving the pressure on Will’s torso and gripping his hips to tilt them _just so_ , and then doubled his pace, the head of his cock driving home into Will’s prostate with every thrust. Will didn’t recognize the sounds leaving his own throat. One arm flew up to hide his face in the crook of an elbow; the other flailed out to the side to clutch silk sheets in a death grip.

“Yes, yes, yes--” Will became vaguely aware that the chant was falling from his own lips. _“Hannibal!”_ he cried out as a searing hotness drove through every nerve of him, so deliciously pleasurable that it almost hurt. Hannibal continued to spear him open. Will felt his own cock pulsing and realized distantly that he was coming, untouched, his hot seed spilling out over his stomach and chest.

A low groan sounded from Hannibal above him as the man continued to move in and out of him. As the thrill of his orgasm subsided, Will realized just how over-sensitive the whole of him was--especially that sweet spot that Hannibal continued to thrust into relentlessly, pulling agonized mewls from Will at every contact. _"_ _Will,_ " Hannibal growled as his frenzied pace grew stilted and frantic. “My beloved--” and then he rammed deep into Will one more time, halting in his movements, and Will felt his cock pulsing deep within him, releasing hot seed to fill and mark him.

Whether or not this was a dream, or, inexplicably, some kind of shared fantasy in their joint Mind Palaces, it felt real to Will. He was shaking with adrenaline and pleasure, covered in a sheen of sweat from their activity, and it felt _real_. And Will knew with absolute certainty that there was no going back from this. Were he to wake now in Wolf Trap, alone and hard in his sweat-drenched bed, he would never be able to pretend that this hadn’t happened. He had a feeling that Hannibal felt the same way. It would be a sort of victory for the doctor; Will wasn’t quite sure yet how he would label it.

Hannibal draped a heavy body over Will’s for a moment, capturing his quivering mouth in a breathless kiss, before twisting them both onto their sides and hauling Will up against him. Will adjusted with him and scooted closer, nuzzling his head into the crook of Hannibal’s shoulder and sighing. Hannibal wrapped one arm around Will’s torso to pin him in place, the other raising to card through sweaty curls.

“I love you,” Will breathed into soft skin, one of his own hands coming up to twist lightly through the coarse, silver hair that blanketed Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal’s fingers paused for a moment, then continued as his other arm squeezed him a bit tighter. “Oh, Will,” he murmured into Will’s hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “I love you, mylimasis.”

The realization that they weren’t really there, in Hannibal’s bed, weren’t really together, flooded over Will and left him heavy, sinking. Hot tears stung and prickled at him and he squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to ward them off; only succeeded in helping them fall. When the salted sorrow dropped onto Hannibal’s chest he pulled back from Will slightly to regard him, cupping his cheek to run a warm finger along each wet trail.

“What is it, darling?”

Will sniffed, pulling back himself so he could look up at Hannibal. He needed to see his face again, as much as he could before this ended. He hated that it was now blurred with his unshed tears. “This isn’t real, Hannibal,” he pointed out.

“Isn’t it?” Will’s eyes fluttered shut and Hannibal’s thumb swept over them, gently wiping away the tears that clung stubbornly to his dark lashes. When he opened them again he was pleased, at least, to find that his vision had cleared. He drank in every feature of Hannibal greedily.

“I’m at home and you’re locked away. This feels so real, so _right,_  but at some point it’s going to end and I just--” Will’s voice broke on a dry sob. “I don’t want to go. I don’t think I can.”

He expected a loving and reassuring smile from Hannibal. Expected the man to dry his tears and whisper to Will that he was strong enough to handle this, that he could come visit Hannibal if he wanted to and it would still be real and perfect, even if they couldn’t touch each other.

He didn’t expect a hungry mouth to descend on his lips, drinking in every bit of him, claiming him, _possessing_ him.

“So don’t.”

Will blinked up at him. “Don’t?”

“Don’t go. Stay with me.”

The thought to stay hadn’t even occurred to him, and he felt a little ashamed for it. He didn’t think about the implications, didn’t think about the body that he’d left lying in Wolf Trap or the life he’d be leaving behind. He simply smiled up at Hannibal and said, “Okay.”

\---

_Beep...beep...beep…_

It was a steady rhythm, irksome in its consistency even though anything else would mean disaster.

_Beep...beep...beep…_

Perhaps it was the fact that the even tone only managed to further remind her how quickly her own heart was pounding in her chest.

“...listed emergency contact…” the voice faded into her consciousness and Alana Bloom finally pulled her gaze away from the unmoving form connected to the machines and back to the doctor next to her.

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, and her voice was thick with an emotion she didn't even know how to name. “What exactly happened to him?”

The doctor shot her a pitying look that left something sick and heavy in her stomach. “Unfortunately we don’t exactly know. An ambulance was called to the scene when he was found unresponsive during a welfare check. Apparently he’d missed some work--”

“He had encephalitis,” Alana interrupted when she found her voice again. “A few years ago--”

“Yes, we saw that in his medical history,” the doctor nodded (was this kid really a doctor? He looked so _young._ She wondered if she should perhaps request someone a bit more experienced, regardless of how rude it might seem. After all, this wasn’t just anyone. This was--) “We followed up with an MRI immediately,” the too-young doctor was still talking, “as well as a CAT scan. It doesn’t look like the encephalitis has flared up again. No sign of a stroke, seizure, aneurysm or tumor--”

“So you have no idea what’s wrong, is what you’re getting at,” Alana snapped. She knew it wasn’t fair, counted on the professional understanding the toll this sort of situation puts on a person.

The man (boy) looked positively desolate at the blunt wording, which actually made Alana feel better. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling hopeless, helpless. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. His brain activity remains strong, which is a good sign, but he’s completely unresponsive to outside stimulus.”

Alana stared down at Will Graham, laid out motionless in a hospital bed and attached to more machines than she cared to count. Before she could think of another question to ask the doctor, a shrill ring broke through the silence, startling the both of them enough to jump. Alana gave an apologetic glance to the doctor as she fished the cell phone from her purse. “I’m sorry, my work--” she explained, and the doctor shook his head.

“No, please, go ahead. I’ll give you some time. You can have the nurse’s station page me if you have any more questions.”

Alana nodded at him as she brought the phone to her ear, “Dr. Bloom,” she answered. Were those tears in her voice obviously to only herself, or her caller as well?

“ _Dr. Bloom,"_ her assistant's tone was equal parts relieved and frantic. “I’m so sorry to call, I know you’re dealing with a medical emergency--”

“It’s fine, Rachel, what’s going on?” Alana cut to the chase. If calm, level-headed Rachel sounded like _that_ then there was likely a crisis at the hospital.

“Hannibal Lecter,” the woman started, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Alana was sure the next words to reach her through the phone were going to be ‘has escaped’. “They were doing dinner rounds and he was found in his cell, unresponsive. Per your instructions they took every necessary precaution but he wasn’t faking anything. They’ve rushed him to Mercy Medical for testing, but they think he’s in some kind of a coma.”

Alana was amazed to find that she was able to swallow over the lump in her throat. “I’m at Sibley in D.C.,” she said thickly. “Tell them I’m on my way. Please remind them that Lecter is a level _five_ patient, and must be restrained at _all_ times.”

She ignored the affirmation that echoed through her phone as she dropped it to her side, absently thumbing the button to end the call. She stared at Will for a long moment, studying the man that, in another life, she might have ended up with.

“Keep fighting, Will,” she muttered as she moved from the foot of the bed to the exit.

The only reply she received was a maddeningly steady _beep...beep...beep…_

\---

Will let out a low, appreciative groan as he spread his limbs out in a sinfully pleasant stretch; when he was satisfied with the action he curled them back toward his body, arching instead toward the warm mass next to him. “G’mornin’,” he rumbled with a lazy smile.

Hannibal’s limbs came to encompass him, pulling him closer yet. “Good morning, sweet Will. What would you like to do today?”

“Mmm,” Will mumbled contentedly, sinking into the strength of his lover’s embrace. “I wanna go fishing. Will you go fishing with me?”

Hannibal hummed against his temple as his fingers began the morning ritual of sorting out Will’s sleep-mussed curls. “I will go where you go, my love. Always.”  


_And if you have a minute why don't we go_  
_Talk about it somewhere only we know?_  
_This could be the end of everything,_  
_So why don't we go  
_ _Somewhere only we know?_


End file.
